


The Sand Between Our Toes

by witchindancin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Coming Out, F/F, Fear, Idiots in Love, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Love Confessions, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchindancin/pseuds/witchindancin
Summary: Canon-Rewrite starting at the end of 15x18Dean, who has just lost Cas to The Empty, needs to find a way to save the earth and defeat Chuck, while also figuring out the feelings he can't ignore any longer. Sam tries to keep it together and help Jack navigate their recent loss. Jack, torn between mourning Castiel and putting on a brave act for Dean and Sam, suddenly realises some strange new phenomenon regarding their power.(Basically Dean is bi and sad, Sam is conflicted and Jack is a precious, non-binary bean.)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Kudos: 9





	The Sand Between Our Toes

“ _I love you_.” The words still echoed in Dean’s head as he drove off. “ _I love you._ ” Blue eyes flashing before him, as he tried to keep the car steady. Blue eyes, that were so sad and yet so happy as he spoke those words. Eyes he had seen many times before. But this time had been different. This time tears had been dripping from them. “ _I love you._ ” Dean tried to concentrate on the road, but his vision blurred, and his ears were ringing with that deep, scratchy voice. “ _Goodbye, Dean_ ”. A sharp pain swept through his body. It pierced through his chest and spread to his fingertips and down his spine. It hurt. It just hurt. For a second, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the pain. Every bit of common sense, that was left in him, was being overpowered by his grieve. The car slithered and for a moment he thought he’d lose control, but then his grip on the steering wheel tightened again. He looked through a veil of tears. No one was on the road. The street was dark. _I have to get to Sam and Jack_ , he thought restlessly. His stomach dropped an inch lower. _See who survived Billies’ attack. I have to get to them_ ; a tear ran down his face and his breath began to shake. _I_ \- His hands held on to the leather clutched stirring wheel as if they were holding on for dear life, knuckles turning white. The shaking grew more violently and right before he felt like collapsing, he floored the brakes. Slumped over, forehead to the steering wheel, he sat shivering. The impala stood sprawled over the lines which separated the two roads, in the dark. Tears were running down his face, for a second time this day. He couldn’t catch his breath, he couldn’t think. Flashes from hours before were flooding his head and before his inner eye, he saw him standing, smiling. Dean didn’t know how long he sat there. Time felt strange. Like long stretches of black nothingness, consuming him, swallowing him whole. _Cas_. His face went cold from the tears which cooled as soon as they ran down his face. Dripping from his nose, and his cheeks, running over his hands, into his sleeves and onto his trousers. A stinging pain formed in his jaw from clenching it too tight. His face was a grimace of pain and grief. He pressed his face against his knuckles in an attempt to drown out the voice in his head that told him to get it together. A voice he was so familiar with, but who he couldn’t listen to right now. It was the same voice that had stopped him from answering Cas back in the bunker. A while past until the shaking ebbed out. Slowly, as though his arms were filled with lead, Dean wiped his tears away. _Cas_ , he thought. And then, I will get him back. With every heartbeat, the thought got clearer. We will get him back, but I have to get to Sam and Jack first. He swallowed hard. His throat felt hoarse, and the skin on his face felt sore from crying. Pinching the bridge of his nose to clear the headache, he sat up straighter. He had no plan, but he had a starting point. He got out his mobile, unlocked it and saw the 14 missed calls from Sam on his home screen from earlier. Jittery he opened his messenger which held texts from Sam. _Are you ok?_ was the first one, the next one asked if they were still at the bunker and that he should call him back immediately. The last one just read “ _Everyone is gone_ ”, with a location beneath it. Dean’s stomach dropped another inch, he spurred baby forward, tires squeaking as they tried to get a hold of the bumpy road.

Pushing the limits of his car he arrived just as the morning sun bathed the neighbourhood he drove into in its milky, soft light. After turning a few corners, he saw two figures standing near an underground entrance. The sound of baby’s door shutting was unnaturally loud and poignant. There was no one around. No children playing in front of their houses, no pedestrians walking by. It was so silent that his footsteps felt intrusive on the pavement. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here. “Sam”, he started and looked around. “They’re all gone. Everyone.”, Sam answered without needing to hear the question first. He sounded small. “But Billie”, Dean wanted to chime in, before Sam interrupted him again. “It wasn’t Billie, Dean. It was Chuck. All of this. Chuck.” Dean stopped in his tracks, as the realisation hit. Their mission. He inhaled slowly. All of it had been in vain. Even with stopping Billie, they hadn’t saved anyone. _Cas_ , a tiny voice in his mind said agitatedly. “Where is Cas?”, Jack who had been quiet so far, looked at Dean, concern covering their face. “Cas”, Dean started, but his voice broke and he fell silent. He couldn’t look Jack in the eyes. Unconsciously, his hand went up and touched the bloody print that was left on his jacket. “Cas …saved me.”, he said numbly. “He summoned the Empty.”, white noise filled his ears and mind, he could only hear himself talk through a thick layer of cotton wool. “It took Billie and then – it took Cas.”, the noise grew louder, and he made himself look up to Jack because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hear them. What he saw broke his heart for a second time that day. Jack looked like a wounded pup. They looked lost. They looked shattered. They looked like a kid, who just lost their father. Dean’s eyes fell on the floor again. From a distance, he heard Sam, say “What?”. Then he looked up again, his hand still grasping the bloodstains that were the rest of Castiel he had left. “He saved me.”, he repeated, tonelessly. Jack looked at Sam like a drowning person would look at a boat in the distance, desperate for help. Dean made a step towards them. Then another. He wanted to hug Jack. He wanted to put his arms around them and tell them that he was sorry. That if he could, he would trade his place with Cas’. He wanted to let Jack know that he would do everything in his power to bring Cas back. No matter what. Billie, Chuck, the Empty, he wouldn’t stop. He would bite and claw his way to Cas if he had to. And even though, all of this was running through his mind, while his body was screaming to close his arms around Jack and to make it better for this kid, he walked past them. He walked past Sam. It just hurt. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw how Sam walked up next to Jack and put a hand on their shoulder. Why wasn’t he able to do the same? He wanted to, a part of him needed to, but something didn’t let him. Next to the feeling of guilt and pain, another feeling formed. Shame.

At a loss of words, Sam put his arm around Jack’s shoulder, squeezing them lightly. Jack was so much smaller than him. Despite the fact, that they had thrown him across rooms, and could hold a power that Sam could not even imagine, Jack felt almost fragile in his arm. Like holding a sparrow with your bare hands. He knew how Jack had to feel. Losing a parent was something Sam had experienced several times, but the pain never lessened. The sort of pain that ties up everything inside of you and nests deep within, cold and unforgiving. Jack’s eyes were flickering up and down, between Dean’s back and the ground. All of this was wrong. Earth being deserted, Chuck winning, Castiel not being with them now, all of it. Hopelessness settled in Sam’s gut. How were they supposed to come out on top of this? Jack had lost his powers. It was them against god, with no weapon, no spell, no ally. They were alone. His grip tightened on Jack’s shoulder. Briefly, Jack glanced at him, their lips parted as if they wanted to say something, but then they closed them and looked down again. “We will find a way.”, Sam muttered, his voice gravelly. “Yes.”, Jack nodded, but they sounded different. They sounded helpless. Sam felt a stifling pain in his chest. “We will.”, he repeated with vigour, he did not feel. But that was what a parent was supposed to do, Sam figured. To tell you the world is safe, even when it wasn’t. To make it ok. He would not let his fears get to Jack. Even when everything seemed to work against them. He would make it ok. The thought gave him strength, a strength he couldn’t muster for himself. It was only a flicker, but it was enough to clear his mind. He would not let anything happen to Jack, or to Dean. Jack lost one parent tonight; they wouldn’t lose another one. “Maybe we should head back to the bunker”, Sam said to Dean, who was standing inside the safehouse that was painted top to bottom with every protection spell and symbol known to mankind, and other creatures. His fingers brushed over the still drying paint. “Yeah.”, Dean agreed, distracted. His eyes were gazing at something out of his reach. Sam threw him a concerned look. Dean wasn’t telling him the full story; he could feel it.

The drive home was quiet as a silence had fallen on earth, so completely, that it was almost deafening. They stopped at a gas station, cars were standing in front of it, doors half-open. The blue paint on the building was falling off on spots, dirt and dust covered the LED letters on the entrance. As Dean went into the restroom, Sam began to tank up. Dean turned on the lights, that revealed a crusty floor, soiled with substances, he would rather not know about. When he looked in the mirror, his eyes immediately landed on the bloody handprint on his jacket. Breathing in deeply, he forced to look at his own face. “Chuck”, he said solemnly. “I know you can hear me. I don’t care what you want to do to me, or Sam. Just, bring him back. Trade him, for me.”, he propped himself up on the sink and his head sunk. Usually, he would scream. He would be furious, yell his throat sore. After everything that was said that day, couldn’t bring himself to do any of it. Broken, he just stared into the stained sink. Muck and schmutz had collected around the drain, forming a dark green, almost black, ridge of gulp. Tears were running down Dean’s nose and into the sink, taking the dirt away with them. “Please”, he begged. “Just give him back.” He pressed his eyes shut. “You win, Chuck. Do you hear me? You win.”, his fingers and knuckles turned white from gripping the brim of the sink. He felt sick. Nausea bubbled up in his stomach. There was no answer. No angel stood suddenly too close to him. No rasping voice that called his name in confusion. “Give Cas back to me.”, his voice was now so low, that it was almost inaudible. Nothing happened. Defeated he turned around and pushed open the door. In the corner, he saw something move. A huff of beige fur wiggled under a chair. A dog? Surprised, Dean stopped in his tracks. It was a dog, a furry snout peeped out the rusty metal frame. “Hey, buddy!”, he exclaimed. A smile tucked on the corner of his mouth. A dog! Something living in this forsaken wasteland. Eagerly he picked him up. “Don’t worry, little buddy. I got you.”, carefully he carried him to the car. “Sam!” Sam turned around and saw Dean with a bundle of light fur in his arms, approaching the car. “Where did you get him?”, Sam ask irritated. “He was sitting over there, the poor creature. Look at him, Sam.”, a genuine smile appeared on Dean’s face. Sam couldn’t suppress a relieved smile. “A dog? In your car?”, he laughed. “Now’s the time.”, Dean helped the dog into the back seat. “He’s a miracle. Isn’t that right, Miracle?”, lovingly he patted its head. One second, he felt the soft, warm head under his palm, the next second his hand went down and just kept going. Miracle vanished in front of his eyes. Blinking in confusion he focussed on the spot on the backseat, but the dog was gone. Jerking upwards he turned around and a few yards away, a figure waved at him. Dressed in a light suit and standing still, Chuck was waving at him. He stood in the middle of the field. And even though Dean couldn’t see that far, he knew, that Chuck was smiling that sadistic smile of his. The message was clear. _You cannot save anyone or anything, not even that dog. You are powerless._ And maybe he was right. But why not end this now? Nobody was left. Was this some kind of sick game he was playing again? Dean exhaled slowly. It didn’t really matter; he could not change it anyway. Sam who saw the whole ordeal unfold just silently got in the car. Jack followed; their arms full of snacks they took from the shop. “Let’s go.”, Dean growled, a deep line on his forehead. A last time he glanced at the field where Chuck had stood seconds before. Nothing. Just an endless, empty field.

Back at the bunker, Dean went to shower. Jack just went to sit silently on their bed, fully consumed with mourning Castiel. Trying to stay busy, Sam started cleaning up in the kitchen. Big mistake. Every bit he put away or washed off, reminded him of their loss. It reminded him of Eileen. Eileen, who he fought so hard for. Eileen, who finally got back to him and trusted him. He had failed her. Clutching a spatula in his hand, tears were running down his face. Chuck had taken everything away from them. It was almost too much to bear. Shaking slightly, he let himself grieve for a moment. He let the tears fall that he had denied himself for the last hours and soaked in this feeling of lost love. A soft noise came from the door and as he looked up, he saw Jack standing in the frame. “Are you ok?”, Jack looked at him with those earnest eyes. “Yes, um, yes”, Sam sniffled and cleared his throat. “Um. Thank you.”, a small but kind smile washed over his face. He couldn’t feel it, but he could try to. “What about you, Jack? Do you want to talk about – well, everything?”, Jack shook their head slowly. “No, I was just worried about...”, they didn’t end the sentence. Jack’s nose wrinkled as it did so often when they tried to figure out what to say next. “I…”, Jack stopped again, “Dean, he seemed so … absent earlier.”, one could almost hear the gears turning in Jack’s head. “What he said about Castiel.”, they fell quiet again. “No matter what happened to Cas, Jack, we will get him back.”, Sam said emphatically. “And Dean…well, let me handle Dean. Don’t worry about him. Dean is...Dean. He’ll be ok.”, Sam didn’t know if he tried to convince Jack, or himself of that. In his heart, he knew something was up. He had seen Dean grieve Cas. A lot. Jeez, Cas had died and vanished and resurfaced so many times, Sam had gotten accustomed to Dean’s grieving process. Or, the lack thereof. No matter what happened, Dean had never truly accepted Cas’ death. He never stopped looking for him. When Cas wasn’t around, Dean had been toned-down, like a music box running on low capacity. He had smiled and laughed, but it had been dulled. Sam remembered every time. He remembered how Dean tried to mourn Cas, how he tried to get over him and how, every time, he had failed to do so. This time, although, Dean seemed different. Jack was right. Dean seemed absent. It was obvious, that he was in pain, that he was grieving. But there was something else, something that scared Sam. Dean seemed hopeless. Whatever happened in the bunker that night, it truly broke him. “Ok.”, Jack nodded. Clumsily Sam made his way over to Jack and put his arms around them carefully. For a moment Jack didn’t move, but then they nestled their face in Sam’s shirt trying to not fall apart then and there. Jack clung to the giant and clasps the soft flannel shirt with their fists, holding on to the family they had left. Worried about Dean, mourning Castiel and knowing that Sam struggled, too, tears were running down their face. “It's ok.”, Sam said and hugged Jack firmer. “Everything will be ok.” Trying to comfort the kid as best as he could, Sam just stood still and hold them tight. It was heart-wrenching and yet, it was his responsibility. After a couple of minutes, Jack had caught themselves and Sam sat them down on the counter and started to make some hot cocoa. With a clunk he sat the steaming hot chocolate in front of Jack, who was staring at the mug, eyes red and glassy. Sam continued washing the dishes, thinking that this would bring some normalcy this evening. Even though, just the look of Jack hurt Sam, having them sit next to him calmed him. Their presence was reminding him of what was important right now. Each wiping motion helped Sam to grow steadier. When he heard slurping noises, he breathed in deeply and relieved. It was a start.

Dean stood under the shower motionless. He had thrown his clothes carelessly on the floor except for his jacket. His jacket was folded neatly and set on his chair in his room. Hot water poured on his head as he continued staring on the tiles beneath him. A shadow had formed in his eyes, lingering in the corners of his perception. It felt like his whole world was about to drown in it. Overcome by a suffocating pain in his chest, he closed his eyes. The water kept pouring, but he showed no intention of cleaning himself up. A part of him felt like he would never be able to wash away the night. Those words. _Knowing you has changed me._ A slippery hand went up to find a hold on the wall. _Because you cared, I cared_. The pressure on his chest deepened. He pressed his other hand, that was not currently trying to keep him upright, against his heart. How can a heart hurt like this, he asked himself? It felt like he was about to die. Like his heart would give up any second now. Worse than when Billy had her go on it yesterday when she tried to kill him. Worse than ever before. And it had been bad before. The last time when he thought he had lost Cas for good, it felt like the world was shrinking, coming closer from all sides, ready to crush him. When he thought he would never look into those eyes again, he had felt wrung out. But this time was different. Why did it hurt so much more? A part of him knew. A tiny strand of thought was waving in the wind, in the back of his mind. Quietly calling out. He knew why, but he didn’t want to know. Because it was too much. Because if he would acknowledge it, he would never be the same again. He would be unable to go back. Maybe he was already over the ledge and there was no coming back. Maybe he was hopeless. His breath grew erratic, as his head started spinning. _I cared about you_. His legs gave away and rather ungracefully he slumped down on the floor. The water was still pouring down. A constant rushing noise filled his ears, drowning out the rest. Tears joined the water from above, hiding between the streams. Dean pressed his hand harder against his chest. Suddenly, a strange noise escaped his lips. Gravely and almost feral, he sobbed. Deep from within, a barrier began to fall apart. Like waves hitting a dam, each sob crashed against this internal wall. And as the waves grew bigger and more forceful, the cracks inside were getting wider. Hitting against the self-imposed boundaries. Trying to release a truth that had been there all along. He had known, somewhere along the way he had started to realise but had pushed it down. Hid it, concealed it because they never caught a moment to breathe. But the trickling was constant now and the walls couldn’t stand the pressure anymore. With a simple sentence, the walls have been breached. Cracked open. Unrepairable damage. Unable to control himself, the feelings washed over him, taking with them everything with them. Exposed and defeated he lay on the floor trembling and gasping for air. There was no use in pretending anymore. There was no use in hiding anymore. _Too late_ , he thought. _You are too late. You will not be able to tell him now. It is too late for you._ And with those thoughts, he started to sob again. After a while, the tremors started to ebb away. Dean didn’t know how long he had been lying in the shower, balled up. Still a bit shaky, he propped himself up on his knees and turned off the water. His body felt stiff from lying balled up for so long and his fingertips and soles of his feet were wrinkly from the water. For a moment he stood there on his knees, head bent down as if he was praying. He was not. No prayer would help him. When he got out of the shower and into his clothes, he could barely feel his body move. Desperate to end this torture he did the only thing he knew to do, he grabbed a bottle of whisky, no glass. Neither Sam nor Jack was in the living space. Perfect. Bitter poison, sweet relieve. Or so he thought. Sip after sip, he tried to ease the pain, to numb it. But it didn’t work. Half a bottle later, he still felt like he was turned inside out. Even though his vision blurred, and his head started spinning, the thoughts didn’t leave. Already drunk, but still in pain, he got up again. Another bottle would do the trick, it had to. Every step he felt like the floor was moving beneath him. Back on the couch he unscrewed the bottle and took another sip. It didn’t help. Unease and a burning sensation spread in his stomach. He felt like throwing up. But he couldn’t stop. Again, and again he brought the bottle to his lips to try and find peace. Poison coursing through his veins, all of his senses dulled but the thoughts in his head and the feelings in his heart were as clear as day. _I love you_ , he thought helplessly. _I love you, Cas._ And then, _fuck_. He rubbed his palm against his head. All of this was too much. The fact that Cas had told him he loved him, the fact that The Empty had taken him away from him, the fact that he, Dean Winchester, the son who was abandoned, the hunter who killed carelessly, the man who started the apocalypse, the vessel to destroy earth, was in love with Castiel, too. He never allowed himself to say it. Dear god, he wasn’t even able to say it out loud right now. How could he? Was he even allowed to be in love with Cas? With his best friend? Even though, Cas has been the only person he ever wanted to hold so tight, that he couldn’t slip away. He loved him more deeply than he ever loved anyone else. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t answer Castiel, when he so bravely spoke the words, both of them had felt for a long time. He had been too overwhelmed, too scared, too weak. Instead of numbing the feelings he had, the alcohol seemed to amplify them. He took another swig. _I am sorry, Cas_. _I’m sorry I’m too late. I’m sorry… for not being stronger._

The evening went by without Sam seeing Dean around. Jack had gone back to their room and after finishing cleaning the kitchen, Sam had taken a shower himself. There was excess water all over the floor. Probably Dean. Exhaustion tucked on his brain, making every thought harder to catch, and, finally, Sam decided to call it a night and try to sleep. On his way to the kitchen, he stuck his head in Jack’s room to say good night. Jack sat on the bed with headphones on, eyes closed. Quietly Sam closed the door again and walked further down the hall. He stopped at Dean’s room and knocked. No answer. When he opened the door, Dean was nowhere to be found. His room was untouched, the bed still made from the day before. Only a jacket on his chair signalled that Dean had been in today. Slightly alerted, Sam went and made himself some tea. Maybe Dean was in the living room. Mug in hand he walked towards the common area. A whiff of whiskey met him as he turned the corner. Dean lay on the ground eyes almost closed, rambling, an almost emptied bottle in hand. Another bottle lay next to him, this one completely empty. The coffee table beside him was in disarray, papers and glasses shattered across it. By the look of it, Dean had been here a while and guilt crept up Sam’s stomach. He should’ve checked on him sooner. “Dean!”, Sam blurted out, startled by the image in front of him. Dean didn’t respond, just grunted something indistinguishable. Sam sat down his mug and rushed to Dean, who tried to lift himself up on the corner of the table, but his hand slid off the table and he crashed down miserably. “Wait!”, Sam gripped Dean’s arm, lifting him enough to prop him up on his shoulder. He pushed the bottle out of Dean’s weakening hand. With a hollow thump, the bottle fell on the carpet. Cursing under his breath, Sam managed to get him up. Dean’s head kept swaying from side to side, he was still muttering something, but Sam could not make out what it was. The strong smell of alcohol emanated from his skin. He was utterly wasted. “Let’s get you to bed”, Sam whispered and navigated them towards the hallway. _We will talk about this tomorrow_ , he thought, tonight Dean wouldn’t even be able to talk, even if he was willing to explain what happened. Opening Dean’s room with a kick, Sam wrestled Dean into bed. The grown man didn’t fight back when Sam covered him with a blanket. Sam went and got a glass of water to put on his nightstand. He looked down at Dean, whose face was a grimace of deep lines on his forehead and around his eyes. Even half asleep he looked in pain. Sweat had damped his hair, as fine pearls dripped down his neck. Sam swallowed hard, they had to figure out a way to go on. Not tonight, though. With a heavy heart, he turned around and closed the door. For a moment he stood still. This was a nightmare.

The next morning came around, like every day, like nothing ever happened. Dean woke up with the feeling of an axe splitting his skull in half. He moaned in pain and rolled over on his side. He noticed it wasn’t only his head but his whole body felt like it was being stretched unnaturally. His throat was dry, and his mouth tasted like a dumpster. Forcefully, he breathed in deeper and concentrated on the pain. Fuck, was the only thought his mind could form. Mustering all of his strength, he rolled over to the other side and opened his eyes a smidge. White and black spots covered his vision. A glass of water stood on his little table. Must have been Sam. He couldn’t remember getting to his room or in his bed. Guilt bubbled up inside of him because he made Sam take care of him in that state. Finally, he sat up and took the glass of water into both of his hands. The cool water soothed his throat. He got up to get more water. In the kitchen, Jack sat at the counter while Sam was preparing breakfast. When he entered both looked up to him. Sam looked concerned. “Morning”, he grunted. His voice was sore and blunt. “Morning.”, Sam replied and went to get some Aspirin from the cupboard. “Here”, he put some pills and a fresh glass of water on the counter next to Jack. Dean nodded and let himself fall on the chair. “How is your head?”, Jack asked, worry in their eyes. “Abysmal”, Dean answered honestly. He glanced at the kid. “Don’t worry”, he added. They shouldn’t suffer because of him. “Breakfast?”, Sam asked Dean as he prepared a plate for Jack. Dean shook his head silently and swallowed the pills all at once. “Coffee?”, Jack asked trying to do something to help. “Yea, sure”, Dean said and gulped down his water. Immediately Jack got up and poured Dean and themselves a mug. “Thank you”, Dean said as Jack put down a giant, red mug in front of him. The morning was slow and quiet as Sam and Jack ate and Dean sipped his coffee tentatively. It was strong and bitter, and Dean guessed that Jack had made it this morning themselves. After all that he put them through, Jack still tried to be there for him. They were a far better person than Dean had given them credit for, and he felt ashamed forever putting that much hurt on the kid. Uncomfortable with the memory of everything that had happened between them, Dean shifted on his seat. “So,”, he said, clearing his throat. “What now?” Sam made an exasperated face, clearly, he had hope for another topic. “Well,”, Sam replied, “we try to figure out a way to reverse Chuck’s plan.” “Ah”, Dean said doubtfully. “Sure, easy-peasy.”, he winked at Sam mockingly and shook his head. “Nobody said it would be easy, Dean.”, Sam didn’t want to play Dean’s little games. He knew his brother was hurt and grieving, but Dean could not drown his feelings in whiskey, hurt himself and expect everyone to just accept that. “I’m going to the library.”, Sam said getting his and Jack’s plate to put in the sink. “If you care to join, Dean, we’ll be there.” They left and Dean looked annoyed at his coffee mug. Why was he like this? Sam tried his best; Jack tried their best. Why was he always so angry at everything? What else could they do than looking for a solution? Nothing, and yet he felt angry at Sam’s answer. _Because I miss him_ , a tiny voice in his mind shouted. _Because nothing feels possible when he is not here with us, with me_. Dean shook his head as if to shake the voice off. But it was true. He wasn’t angry at Sam, or at Jack. He wasn’t angry about having to search the library for a way out. He was sad and he didn’t know what to do. Restless, Dean got up and put his mug in the sink. There was nothing he could do about it right now and he feared the moment when Sam would ask him about that night. He didn’t know if he would be able to explain to Sam, what had happened, what had shattered that wall inside of him. And the aftermath of it all. How could he tell Sam that he loved Cas? How could he tell anyone, when he never even said those words out loud before? 


End file.
